i want to suck your cock
its not classy but i want it
sometimes i want salvation
sometimes i want spiritual healing
occasionally, if i think about it, i wouldn't
mind a little world peace
but mostly right now my jaws ache
to have my jaws ache
my maw aches
to make my jaw ache
making a drop to me knees
this is what it means to be human
we need love
we need reason,
we need to be opened
we need each other
we need to be unblocked
we need the grace to have our mouths fucked.

and now i pause and wait for the imaginary
slap from heaven,
the tap on the wrist castigating me for
who i am and the lust in me and the
mischief i make and hte bwing down
to mercury and venus, the penis
rises like a mast and compass points
to all desire and i am filled with a fire the buddha could not countenance. i am all dripping black storm clouds and lust and blood and still, five years from a church and a hundred miles from jesus heaven, i splash my face and think of all the time i'd waste waiting for punishment... and i am still getting used to not being an angel, and i am trying to unravel the secret of my lust and trying to trust in all this longing and how what i wish for in the end, when we lay it all down, is simply to be lain down and fucked, after all this crying and all the wasted reasoning on the clock i just want to open wide my mouth so you can stick in your cock

There is only one law as far as i
know and that is to grow,
the knowing that cannot stop
reaching, the untwisting of
the vine all the time,
like kudzu in the south,
tearing down the house,
and i would subjugate you,
dam you, damn you, put reins
down until storm and when
the rain falls down,
tearing down all my houses
this is the only construction,
the creation of destruction
and the shiva dance,
the firing ram,
lightning and a
stiff cock in my hand

swallow

in america most men are ashamed most of the time for most of the things they do...




what a heavy load!

with a final groan and release you
deliver what is salt and honey
in my mouth, the money of the
love we made, the flow of rivers
i rarely let spend into me and
your face, pale and spent with shame,
that mighty damn, shrinking already.

like bubbling sap and oil you
explode

salvation.

The taste of you,
coal and

damnation.

a burning
ash suffucing in my membranes
while lamely, your gather
your clothes like Adam,
and donning fig leaf
underwear try to make
conversation

after sleep none of this matters and
i know there is no hurry,
i am soli as stone, solid as ice,
melting as ice in March and April.
if i tried, if it was worth it,
i would not beabl to make any

sense of you what is more,
at this time i am unable
to worry, i am unable to
care about things i cannot
care about, weep for what
i should not be weeping for,
i just don't believe in your
jesus, or in her no-god,
i'd rather pray over a stone
i would rather sit here
composing the beginning
of a poem than be devoted
to confusion
i would rather sleep

blueberry, bumblebee
rasperry, persephone come for me
i just broke into a man's house and took his underwear
so soft and don't you stare or do you
tangerine and fragipanis, angelica and clover
scarbora, but don't you blame me
and tiffany will you come for me
when you know i am waiting on the floor
just like before
i sit by the door wailing cause fred
with his cigarettes
won't come home
the man with joint in his hand he is
not superman but can you blame me
raspberry, lemon and symphony to china
blanket
and tiffany you see my blood rosary
pulling blood bead after bead for
fred with the man hands
the hands of the man
the dr who hold hands of the man'
but don't you blame me

come on and wash me with your superman
with your big strong cool hand luke
i need your apple duke,
i know it ain't no fluke and i still need
your
aqua
marine,
come on man
come on and take my hand and my dollar bill,
let me do your will to my temples
soul be done without the old question,
but will your stick my apple to the peach?
to the peacepipe peach, and to long
tall reach of the cigare pipe stand
bubble gum sweet man
sweet sweet man, the world is your hand but
will you get my dollar bill?

i say "i'm not doing this shit again,"
and you say, "what?"
you are so shcoked you can't believe it,
and you keep coming back again
and all your thoughts keeps
coming back again, round and round,
and why won't you stop thinking in circles
and i am still not sure how i feel about you,
but i hate to admit this, in a delayed
reaction way i think i love you,
and part of me, looking at you wishes i could fuck you
and as i sit across from you,
looking at a day's growth of
beard on your face
and the grace of green eyes,
pleading against fearborn religion
and all the sad things you say,
part of my wishes this was the
day you would push yourself
against me
and, stopping all argument just
love me, just press your mouth
to mine and love me

the moment of loving is precisely the same as
the moment of poetry it goes in a flow three
times faster than the rest of this slow bear's
blood life where so called thinking
hibernaciously slow is weighed down,
nearly drowned by bad logic and logic
is just the inability to see, and
logic is just wishing you didn't
see and all the daylight thinking
is burned by its limits
do you remember your limbs
and my limbs twined together
at two in the morning and magic
of sex faster than love and love
faster than thought and the most
sacred moments of our lives are
like that, holy like that,
fucking like that

The poem of my life is easier to write
at 6 am and far more visible,
how visible the twinkling of its
threads this early in the morning
against the night
light my way best
with the heart of things,
at this time when i haven't
had the time to gather up
all the bits of armor i
would put on to make me
different from you and
me different from him and
him and then
this has always been the
heart of me
to stare into the middle
of this morning blackness
and see
us

i'm too stupid to let go
let me find release
you have always been our answer
in you i find my peace
in love you are love
in light delight
place your hand upon me
give me sight
there is the darkness
in the darkness
in the dimness of the dead end
path
and the only monster in that labyrinth
is the one i make
and you are the love,
the ariadne
the string
the sex on naxos







see me here, nude as birth
lustful as a boy
confused as any child on the brink
everytime i think i've figured it out
here it goes again
and it is life
and it is the movement of the earth
and it is the mother
the father, the following
of the day upon the night
the admission that three fourths
nine tenths of the world exist beyond my sight